


The Pretty Things

by Jemisard



Series: Songbird AU [1]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-19 01:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemisard/pseuds/Jemisard
Summary: Everything Lewis knows about songbirds, he learned from Morse. He didn't learn how to cope with this, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athena_crikey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Songbird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568109) by [athena_crikey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey). 



> Set in the "Songbird" world frame by athena_crikey

Everything Robbie Lewis knew about songbirds, he had learned the hard way from Morse.

Which was why, when he was picked up at the airport by a strange young man who was clearly a songbird very skilled at repressing his allure, Lewis had acted like there was nothing really odd about it. Songbird emancipation was hardly new, but too many people kept to outdated ideas about the poor folk and Morse–who had suffered the indignities of pre liberation treatment–had forcefully knocked all of them out of a young Robbie Lewis.

After that first case, it was a surprise to be given first refusal on Hathaway as a bagman, but made sense when he thought about it. They had worked well together, Lewis' long term partnership with the infamous Morse was well known and he had refrained from doing the things many people couldn't help but do around songbirds.

Their partnership–and their friendship–had survived on Robbie following the unspoken rules that he had hedged out with Morse. Don't ask about being a songbird; it isn't your business if they were tempted by the pampered life, it isn't your business where they get the affection they need. If their control slips, don't make a big deal of it; it's embarrassing for both parties, so just brush it off and pretend it didn't happen. Don't stare, most people don't like being stared at, especially since their existence isn't a sideshow for your enjoyment.

And most importantly: don't ask about being a songbird.

That one could never be overstated enough. If someone wanted to talk about their life, they would. Otherwise, let it be. Only creeps asked things like "why are you so beautiful?" or "would you like me to help take care of your needs for a while?".

And in that way... working with James was a lot like working with Morse. He didn't ask any of the myriad of questions he desperately wanted to about his young sergeant's life, because he didn't know how many of them were tied up in his past and his fight to be taken seriously as a songbird officer.

Most of the time, he could half forget it. He had the habits of not looking, not lingering, not touching. He had let James initiate how comfortable he was, be it a hand shake or leaning shoulder to shoulder on the couch after a long day, beer in hand and telly on the local match.

Even the Kenneth case hadn't shaken Robbie's determination to respect the boundaries around James' silence about his struggles as a songbird. When he had broken into the blazing apartment and found James mostly asleep on the bed, vulnerable and relaxed in a way Robbie had never seen before...

It haunted him. He couldn't deny that. The way the fire had turned his blonde hair into a fiery halo around his head, lips soft and pinked in the heat and his body pliant and trusting as Robbie had pulled the boy to him; for a moment, Robbie had nearly forgotten the danger, the screaming of Zoe Kenneth (Feardorcha, poor, maddened, murderous Feardorcha) and he had just wanted to curl up on the bed with James and stroke his fingers over the alabaster skin.

But he hadn't. And they had escaped, for Robbie to follow the ambulance to the hospital where James was moved into a private ward for his own safety. Robbie had sat by his bedside, not looking at him, running over fond memories of Val and the kids, over case details he had sworn to never let be forgotten, anything to keep himself occupied. Anything to not take any advantage of the beautiful creature that usually hid inside his sergeant.

When James came back to himself, all that allure had folded away back inside his shell, like delicate wings being folded under a beetle's carapace until all that was left was his awkward sod who deserved a right bollocking for his bloody stupidity.

Even that hadn't been enough to shake the equilibrium between them. Not for more than the days it took for Robbie's hurt and James' shame in himself to fade.

This was different.

Crevecoeur was different.


	2. Chapter 2

There were two shots, both fired before the first had struck. Robbie was already crashing into Hopkiss, grabbing him and twisting his arm up and behind him, forcing him to drop the gun. But the damage had already been done.

Coleman barely made a sound as he went down; Selina's scream of his name was louder than any other human made noise.

James was similarly quiet as the other shot hit him, jolting him back a step before he managed to recover his footing. For a moment, Robbie could feel his gaze being drawn upward, breathless at the anticipation of beauty.

And then it vanished again. James choked and groaned, grasping his arm. His gaze flicked to the fallen Coleman and then he staggered towards Robbie, as if he could help restrain his once friend.

Under Robbie, Hopkiss screamed for the lord of the manor, sobbing into the grass and begging for him, as the man stood at a distance and watched the whole scene unfold like some perverse play that he wasn't involved with. Next to him, Scarlett clung onto her father, watching her cousin, Coleman, as he gasped his last breath and fell still on the grass.

There was nothing to be done to help him, but Robbie still felt a stab of helplessness. He looked to James, who looked back with a frozen, shocked gaze.

The Shimali boy came into sight, running across the dark lawn and Robbie knew he had to get control of the situation until uniform arrived. "Shimali, right?! I need you to go to the entrance and get ready to bring the cars up here, tell them we need an ambulance, got me?"

Shimali nodded, looking to his fiancee, to the body on the ground and lingering briefly on James before he turned and ran off again. Robbie could understand why; it was only years of experience and exposure that let him ignore that creeping pull trickling down his spine.

That, and maybe the throbbing ache at the back of his head where he'd been cuffed with the gun.

"James, sit down, get that jacket off, elevate the arm. Miss Mortmaigne, give him a hand." He didn't really want her anywhere near James, but it was her or Lord Augustus and it would be a cold day in Hell before he let that man get near James ever again.

Robbie worked on securing Hopkiss. By the time he had him sitting on the grass, arms cuffed behind his back, Scarlett had managed to get James' jacket off without jostling too much and was using his tie as a tourniquet above the gunshot. James was looking paler than ever; Robbie could only imagine the strain of pain, shock and trying to keep his presence damped down.

Then, blessedly, he heard sirens and saw the flicker of lights. And then there was backup and he could step away from Hopkiss and beeline for James, snapping for officers to make sure Scarlett and Lord Augustus didn't vanish in the chaos.

Augustus just seemed deflated. His daughter's marriage was almost assuredly off, his wife wept over her dead lover–his nephew–and his secret...

James looked up. The lights caught the brightness welling in his eyes and his lips were parted, pink and damp and inviting.

Robbie reached down and helped him to his feet, draping his jacket around his shoulders. "Come on, lad, we're all going inside, meet the EMTs there."

*~*~*

By the time they had all walked back–Robbie shepherding James, Lord Augustus with Scarlett on his arm and Shemali supporting Selina–James' presence was starting to overwhelm those with them. Robbie fancied that Scarlett and her father had the same hungry look, one that nauseated him and Shimali was very pointedly watching Selina, struck briefly immune to a songbird's charm by her grief.

As uniform directed the civilians into the living room, Robbie held James back. "Somewhere quiet, lad. Private."

"Oh." James's head swung one way, then the other, before he gestured down a side hall. "Second door. It was always a private office. Can't imagine that's changed."

Robbie hurried them down there, relieved that James was right and there was a small office with a couch that he could direct James onto. He left him just long enough to tell uniform where they were and to send an EMT down to them when the hospital arrived, coming back to find James had shed his jacket and was applying pressure to his arm again. He had also managed to gain control of himself, smothering down tightly on his presence.

"James. You're not in danger from me." He sat himself down. "I managed to never have my head turned by Morse and I got through sitting by your bedside after the Kenneth mess. I know that will be good as new in a week and that that process will be smoother if you're not punishing yourself by refusing to allow anyone to help you."

But he still made sure there was space between them, that James could decide for himself. Which he did after another long moment, drawing a shuddering breath and then relaxing. Letting his shoulder and knee touch Robbie's as he let himself drop his guard.

It was no less powerful than any other time. The sudden awareness of James there, of the graceful limbs resting against his own and the strong scent of his natural sweat breaking past the aftershave that usually managed to mask it.

"Lad, you really got yourself hurt this time, didn't ye?" He stretched his arm out along the back of the couch and James folded himself down against Robbie's side, warm and heavy.

Robbie looked down at the tousled, golden head resting on his shoulder and indulged the need to rest his mouth against it and just breathe for a moment. James remained still against him, but relaxed a bit more when Robbie made no other move.

He didn't want to imagine what had happened the last time James had been in these walls and let his guard down. Too many cases and too many stories and too many nights of drunken suggestions from Morse of what he'd been through when he was a young songbird were filling in Robbie's imagination, regardless of what he wanted.

"You're tense." James' voice was always resonant and rich, but it wrapped like smoke and silk through his mind, sweet notes.

"Not because of you," Robbie promised. He squeezed the shoulder under his hand, trying to be a reassuring presence. "This whole night has just been pretty awful, for everyone. Especially for you."

"I screwed up." James' words muffled as he turned his face further into Robbie's shoulder. 

"A bit," Robbie agreed. "You're human. I mean, you're a person, James." Corrected when James snorted at his choice of words. "You make mistakes, just like everyone else. You just make them look better."

It drew another snort, but this one was a bit closer to a laugh and it warmed Robbie's heart to hear it.

"All you need to do right now is wait for the EMTs and let them help you." He hoped he wouldn't have to make that an order.

"When they get here."

"They'll be here soon." Robbie knew they'd be directed straight to them. James was the only injury; Coleman was well beyond their help.

"I don't really need them, you know. I'll heal."

"Don't, lad. Just because you heal fast doesn't mean you shouldn't be checked and have that cleaned up. And they'll have painkillers as well." He squeezed his arm around James' shoulders, only to have James suddenly sit up and draw back to look at him.

It was an achingly familiar expression, open and lost, so lost that it seemed to pain him.

"Why are you being so kind to me? You should be either too angry to be able to stand being near me, or so enchanted that you can't keep your hands off me!" The raw pain in his voice made it crack, his face twisting. "Why are you being so normal?!"

Robbie heard the knock on the door and ignored it. "James... Yes, I'm upset you did a bloody stupid thing. And yes, I know you're a beautiful, gifted man and right now, it is hard to ignore that." He shifted back slightly to meet the young man's gaze. "But like I told Laura, you're my awkward sod. Songbird, or making daft decisions, you're still James. And right now, that matters more."

He was spared James' response (Denial? Refusal? Anger?) by the EMTs entering and James turning all his attention to pulling his shields and armour together to face strangers.

Robbie was ushered out and the door firmly closed on him.

He took a steadying breath and turned on his heel. The medics would deal with James.

He had to deal with the real offender in this whole tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this took; I ended up sick and that took all my energy.


	3. Chapter 3

With James safely in the hands of EMTs trained in medicine, trauma and songbirds, Robbie could not long avoid what needed doing. Paul Hopkiss had been driven off to the station to be secured in a cell and officers were taking statements from the young Mr Shemali and Scarlett Mortmaigne.

Robbie was directed up to Lord Augustus' study to find the man himself. He was no flight risk and no danger to anyone on scene so they had let him go up there.

It was habit that Robbie knocked before entering, stepping in as Augustus looked up with a small frown. "A gentleman would wait to be invited to enter."

"A police officer in charge of a crime scene doesn't," Robbie stated. "Mr Hopkiss has been taken to the station. He was still calling for you."

"Yes. Yes, poor Paul. I had no idea, Inspector, none. He was always such a devoted boy; I'll provide him with legal counsel, of course." Augustus looked back through his magnifying glass; Robbie saw that he was carefully building a fishing lure.

"You should be more concerned with your own charges. With Paul's statements, and Briony's evidence, you'll be facing a significant number of charges."

"Paul would never say a word against me. He knows how very much I love him." Augustus looped the wire again and tied it to start the next loop. "And I do love him, Lewis. He was such a fragile, pretty thing as a child, so shy and uncertain. He suffered a terrible stutter, you see, but a speech therapist worked wonders to give him some confidence."

"You abused him," Robbie heard himself say. His voice sounded tired, he was tired, tired of men like this and children like Paul and Briony. And James. "And Briony. And I'm sure they weren't the only ones."

Augustus gave a huff and turned off the lamp on his desk. "Inspector, really, I loved them, each and every one. I have simply always loved pretty things. They were, each of them, lovely. And I have always had a weakness for such things." He sounded almost regretful and for a moment, Robbie could almost believe his regrets.

Almost.

"I think the only thing you regret is being caught, Lord Augustus. And that you got Scarlett into this whole mess when she was roped in by Paul. I don't think you regret what you did to those children."

"I loved them. I gave them gifts, all the help they could need." As is his generosity wasn't bribery and some kind of recompense for what he had done to them. "How many men of my status do you think would help get a young, gifted songbird into the university of his choice instead of keeping them close?"

Robbie fought to keep his expression under control, keep his emotions smothered. He was here as an officer of the law, as the lead investigator.

Augustus gave a half smile. "It was such a sad day when he learned to hide what he was so effectively. All that beguiling, elegant beauty smothered down as if he could be just like anyone else. But no matter what, I knew I had helped him, to understand what he was and what he did to people. Before he was thrown to the wolves outside the estate."

Robbie turned his back on the man, unable to listen anymore. "You're going to prison, Mortmaigne. Not for half as long as you deserve, but hopefully, long enough that none of them ever have to see you again." He opened the officer door. "Constable, charge him. Suspicions of sexual interference with a child under the age of majority, against Briony Grahame and Paul Hopkiss."

"Inspector Lewis!"

He paused, but couldn't make himself look back.

"I... simply love pretty things. Is that a crime?"

"No." Robbie swallowed down his nausea. "But what you did to them? If you loved them, you never could have done that."

He needed to see James.

And Christ, did he need a drink after this.

*~*~*

When Robbie found James, he was standing out the back, away from the lights and other officers. There was a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers, but it seemed to be smoldering more than being smoked. His shirt was still half undone and untucked with his jacket draped over his shoulders and probably doing little to stave off the cold of the night air.

Robbie's professional life was asking question and his professional relationships were built on not asking them.

This fell somewhat outside both of those things and he knew it. Instead, he stepped up next to James and nodded at his shirt. "Want a hand?"

James lifted his hand and took a slow drag on his cigarette. His fingers trembled ever so slightly. But then he dropped his hand and held his arm out of the way.

Robbie stepped around and started doing up buttons. "What did they say about your arm?"

"No driving for seven days, just in case."

"It's not often I envy you, lad, but I remember being shot. Would've loved to have been healed up in twice that long, rather than the six weeks I had to take." It hadn't been serious, but it involved stitches, antibiotics, physiotherapy to stop muscle atrophy... 

James snorted.

"Suppose there has to be an upside to it, with everything else you go through." He neatened James' collar more out of habit than any need and brushed a few flecks of white bandage cloth from his lapel.

"I suppose so," he agreed softly.

Robbie stepped back to James' side and shoved his hands in his pockets. "And they told you that you shouldn't be on your own right now, didn't they?"

James didn't reply, just took another drag on his cigarette.

"Look, James."

The younger man looked at him, suddenly wary.

"I'm not going to ask. I don't push you about whatever's in your past and I don't ask about anything you don't bring up unless it's an investigation. But if you ever want someone to listen, you know where to find me." It was more about their feelings than they'd discussed in years and it left Robbie feeling as uncomfortable as James looked. "But I'm not going to ask. Your secrets are yours, lad. But don't think you're sparing me, because after this many years on the force, I have a pretty vivid imagination." He gave a short huff of breath. "Right. Think I'm done mortifying both of us."

"Thank goodness," James breathed out. "Does this mean you don't want me to file a transfer request?"

"Don't be dafter than nature intended! Of course not!" He nearly asked why James would think that, but stopped himself. Of course James thought that, because James would always be far harder on himself than anyone else could be. Even Robbie at his worst. "Between us? You and me, we make a halfway decent detective. Be a shame to break that up."

James snorted again and flicked his cigarette butt away.

"I'm the brains," he clarified. "Ideas man, me. Clearly."

"Yes, clearly, sir," James intoned dutifully.

"And the looks. You can be the brawn."

Robbie felt satisfied to hear the small, mostly hidden laugh from beside him.

"Come on. There's nothing more for us to do here tonight. We're going home and getting some sleep before we come back tomorrow morning."

"This morning," James murmured. "It's past midnight."

"Definitely past my bed time. Come on. I'll drive you back to mine. Nothing funny, but you aren't going to be on your own and I need my own bed."

"I don't know that I can sleep. Especially not on your couch with my arm."

"Then we can string up a blanket down the middle of my bed and you can sleep there. For my virtue, of course."

"Of course, sir," James replied, but Robbie could hear the smile in his voice.

"Can't risk the sight of me in my jimmy-jams giving you a heart attack." He started wandering off towards the cars, trusting that James would follow him.

"No, sir. How could we risk that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any errors are my own.


End file.
